Work Text:
It is an ordinary Tuesday, an ordinary council meeting, when Armitage Hux decides that he is done. There’s nothing remarkable to it – Ren mostly keeps his temper in check for once, clearly fuming about the intel they are given (another one of their shuttlecraft picked off by the so-called Resistance), but doing nothing more than sitting and glowering at the other council members during the presentation, all of whom ignore the fainted-but-probably-still-alive presenter on the floor (too important to murder outright, obviously, and so spared that particular fate).
“Of course,” says the rank-and-file who is second in command, and thus now charged with cleaning up and trying to make Supreme Leader Ren happy. “We have had some successes, as well?”
The rising inflection at the end is not promising. Ren must note this, for the “quietly fuming” is quickly becoming “dark muttering”, which usually precedes the sort of outburst that Hux has grown used to (and hates), but the next thing rank-and-file reveals is, ultimately, what causes Hux to realize that he is finished.
“We have located what we believe to be an outlying moon being used as a small Resistance base,” he starts. “The moon is home to a research station – a small one, meant to be monitoring tectonic activity on the volcanic planet it orbits, but we have seen unusual shuttle traffic –”
Ren slams his hands on the table. “Shuttle traffic? No clear signs?”
“We –”
Ren makes a noise that may perhaps be interpreted, charitably, as one of extreme displeasure, clearly about to lose control again – and perhaps kill the rank-and-file giving the report out, given the state of the one on the floor. Everyone looks to Hux – fix it.
“If it is a research base that is meant to be monitoring tectonic activity, there should be little to no shuttle traffic beyond scheduled supply drops – which likely are no more than once per quarter,” he tries. “No ships coming in or out of the base. If there have been, it may be a sign that the Resistance uses it for refueling, passing information…” It’s worth investigating, he means, though clearly Ren doesn’t take it that way.
“This is a waste of my time.” Teeth gritted, Ren shoves his chair back, leaving – without a backward glance at the rank-and-file soldier, who is literally shaking as he draws back against the wall, clearly aware of what a narrow miss he’s had, eyes darting over to his superior on the floor (who is still breathing, at least – a sign of a successful meeting, for even if Ren has lost his temper, at least there are no bodies to tend to this time).
“I suppose that’s the end?” suggests one of the Council. “If there is nothing else…”
“Someone should follow up on the base,” Hux says. He can be an adult, at least, if no one else is willing to. “It’s worth verifying.”
Sidelong glances, then: “A minor scientific base is hardly worth following up on – not when we need to find the shuttle saboteur, but if you think it prudent…” Meaning: if you want to go against Kylo Ren, be our guest.
“The shuttle saboteur should be first priority,” he agrees blandly.
The overall tension in the room drops by several degrees. “We are in agreement, then – we will assign someone to look into the shuttle saboteur.”
And overlook the base, which may be used for the Resistance, because it doesn’t please Ren – what are we doing?
“Wonderful,” Hux says.
Someone else follows up on the shuttle piece – there’s talk about who should be assigned to investigate the saboteur. It’s the sort of thing that Hux himself should follow up on – trust but verify, as though most of the First Order is competent, but –
They aren’t, and I don’t know why I labor under the delusion that they are.
The thought stops him where he stands. He is meant to be headed to his quarters – to review what information has been sent him; sign off on who is assigned to the investigation, look again at the star maps and what information they have regarding what it is that has been done – where they believe the Resistance will act next; what it is he expects that they will try, strategy, what he’s meant to be good at –
What does it matter?
Hux has never known anything except the First Order. He’d fought his way through the rank and file – his father’s identity something that had hurt more than it helped, but he had proven that he was competent and more than capable of doing what needed doing, and never mind the cost – and what had it mattered?
Before Kylo Ren, Hux had thought – perhaps wrongly, but nevertheless, it had felt reasonable – that he would rise through the rank and make his way to the very top, eventually ending somewhere above where his father had. Leader of the First Order, no – but trusted advisor, perhaps, the power behind the name, able to puppet whomever was the figurehead.
Ren had wrecked that.
Hux’s father was important, naturally, but he was nothing compared to Ren’s grandfather. The principles by which he had done everything – everything – were suddenly sacrificed in favor of “trusting Kylo Ren”.
The Council had looked at Ren, seen who his grandfather was, and promptly given him all the power that Hux could have ever wanted, naming him Supreme Leader – as though that was the right move. Power that Hux had carefully worked toward, keeping his head down and doing what he could to show that he was committed, that he was trustworthy, that he believed in the goals of the First Order and would naturally uphold and guide whomever became the new leader, never daring to say that it would be him (for he knows what he is; “charismatic” and “capable of winning over the masses” is not it; he’s an unrepentant asshole and sees no reason to change that) – gone, his position suddenly one that answers to Kylo Ren, who clearly does not like nor trust him, and who will (Hux knows) kill him as soon as he can find a reasonable excuse to do so. He’s said as much.
Why do I bother?
He makes it back to his quarters. There’s a stack of paperwork waiting for him – the sort of thing that he’d done when he was lower-ranking, had eventually been able to pass off, though now of course it is handed back to him, for he has lost some of his standing. Not his title, of course, for that’s not how it works – but while he might still be, theoretically, second in command, the trusted advisor to Kylo Ren…
…he has been reduced to a glorified secretary, not trusted nor liked. He can live without the latter – he certainly doesn’t like Ren – but the lack of trust, after everything he’s done, being reduced to paperwork, and not interesting paperwork, at that (for today’s stack is Kylo Ren’s expense reports – something Ren should be able to fill out himself and yet delights in handing off to Hux, simply to humiliate him), galls.
Hux looks at the stack of paperwork, considers his options, what it is that he should do next, and – recognizing that nothing about the situation will ever change, sighs and leaves.
Hux doesn’t intend to go to the shuttle bay. He makes a point, rather, of avoiding anywhere that Ren is likely to be if he can help it – and given the way that Ren had stormed out, Hux would imagine that he was headed to the bay, to interrogate (read: torture) whomever he could about their supposed incompetence.
That the bay is almost completely empty confirms his theory – someone must have warned the techs off, for there’s no one present save one, a man with a clipboard in his hands, going through some sort of pre-flight safety checklist, presumably before someone else flies today. He spots Hux and, paling, immediately salutes.
“At ease,” Hux says, trying not to be annoyed at the formality. He shouldn’t inspire fear the way that Ren does – after all, it’s not as though he can perform any sort of Force-trick to torture them from afar. He does have a blaster in the holster at his hip, but that’s part of the standard carry for everyone of a certain rank, and he has no intention of using it. “I need a shuttle.”
The man looks down at the clipboard in his hands. Flight list, Hux thinks. Schedules.
“Er, sir?”
“I’ve just come from a Council meeting,” Hux says. “There is work that needs to be done; I will fill out the paperwork later. Are you seriously going to prevent me from carrying out the will of the Council?”
The shuttle tech pales even further. “No – no, sir.”
“Very good. I will need to make the jump within…” He tries to recall when the next scheduled launch is – who is going out, and when, and why. “Fifteen minutes.”
“...sir?”
“Time is of the essence,” he says. “Are you really questioning the will of the Council?”
“...no,” says the tech. “Sir.”
“Very good.”
The idea of a flight itself is something of a whim – he hasn’t the faintest idea where he’s going to go, only that he doesn’t want to be here. I can waylay it into something else, he thinks. Say that I was going on a scouting mission, or…something. He doesn’t let himself stop to consider what it is he is actually doing, where it is he knows he will be going. Denial is powerful; if he does not say, even to himself, that he is doing it before it is done, he may be able to carry it out after all. If he thinks about it –
Well. He’s thought about it before, and he’s still here.
The tech emerges from the shuttle interior, bowing at him – Ren really has done a number on them, hasn’t he – before stammering out something, clearly nervous: “There are some difficulties with the autonav system, sir, but the shuttle should fly, and if you are not undertaking a very long journey –”
“If I am?”
“Sir.” The shuttle tech – his designation is embroidered on his jumpsuit, a string of numbers and letters, and this among many other things is something that Hux would change, if he was in charge – it’ll improve morale as the main argument, but also, mainly, it would help to know how to refer to them instead of using constant epithets – straightens. “If you are undertaking a longer journey, I would strongly suggest filling out a requisition form and requesting a work assignment from a shuttle tech, sir – or waiting for a different shuttle.”
Requisitions forms. More paperwork, of course.
“I’ll fill out the paperwork later,” he decides. “Come along.”
“...sir?”
“Were my instructions unclear? We depart momentarily.”
“...yes, sir.” The shuttle tech looks down at his clipboard, perhaps running through the preflight list one last time, then: “Would you mind telling me where we’re going, sir?”
The shuttle bay has a camera recording system. If Ren checks it (doubtful) or asks someone else to check it (possible, but still doubtful), he’ll see this.
No sense in giving him a head start.
“I wish to go for a short flight to clear my head,” Hux says. He doesn’t have to try to sound condescending; he’s mastered it. “If that is agreeable to you – I did not realize I needed the approval of the shuttle techs to engage in such a thing.”
The shuttle tech looks at him – not meeting his eyes, but looking down, to where –
Oh, yes, the blaster. I suppose it is useful after all.
“Is it?”
“Yes,” says the shuttle tech. Belatedly he adds: “Sir.”
“Very good.”
They get away, are out of comms range, when Hux goes ahead and puts in the coordinates for the supposed Resistance base. He tells himself that it’s simply to scout it, to do the necessary work that someone else should have done, that he’s not truly throwing over his entire career – and yet.
The shuttle tech peers at the coordinates. “Um, the autonav system isn’t going to be able to – that’s too long-range to –”
“What’s your name?”
The shuttle tech looks over at him, clearly frightened. “Um…sir?”
“Your name,” Hux repeats. “Please.”
The please is probably overkill – at least, the shuttle tech freezes at it, though he recovers fast enough. “Um. Kenneth,” he says. “My – everyone calls me Ken?”
“Ken,” he says. “Thank you. Yes, the autonav is down. Can you fly us to these coordinates, or shall we rely on my admittedly outdated knowledge of the shuttle navigation system?”
“I…can fly?” Ken blinks at him. “I don’t –”
“Excellent. Please do so.”
Silence, as he takes over and begins manually inputting the coordinates, then: “Where is this, anyway?”
“A moon base believed to be used by the Resistance as a refueling stop.” This is technically need to know, but what secrecy does he owe the Council now?
“Oh.” Another long pause, then: “I don’t know if I have…clearance…for that? Sir.”
“Consider this a promotion.”
Ken doesn’t talk much, something that Hux is rapidly beginning to appreciate about him. He looks Hux over, as if wondering if he’s serious, then nods and slowly finishes what he had started. The display shows their trajectory – on track to reach the base, the jump successfully started – and after it is, Ken leans back in his seat, not looking at Hux as he asks:
“So…Supreme Leader Ren uses the Force to…punish…us. Um. Sometimes we – you know. Anyway. I guess what I’m asking is, I’ve never heard of you going on a, uh, flight? For fun? The Resistance base thing is a cover, isn’t it? I just – if you’re going to launch me out an airlock, I’d rather see it coming.”
Hux glances over at him, unsure if he’s joking or not. Ken’s face is serious, looking at him nervously as though afraid of what the answer will be. This is how far we’ve fallen, Hux thinks, annoyed. The skilled technicians think that they’re going to be killed to, what, sate our anger? It’s no wonder we can’t get anything done, if this is the work environment we’ve fostered.
“I am not going to toss you out of an airlock,” Hux says.
“Oh.” Ken taps at something on the display, then: “That isn’t as reassuring as I thought it would be.”
Hux doesn’t address this. Comfort isn’t something he’s prepared to give. The pilot is a liability, but he’ll do, he supposes.
“We’re approaching the base now,” Ken says, a few minutes later, as they drop out of hyperdrive. “They’re hailing us, um. Sir.”
Hux moves over, takes over comms for the shuttle. This much, at least, he knows how to do – without getting either of them killed. He taps the command to accept, an image coming up on the screen of an older Human man, white-haired, wearing a blue mechanic’s overall. The script over the pocket says his name – Bill.
“Greetings, Bill,” he says – trying for polite, though it doesn’t come naturally to him. “I am General Armitage Hux of the First Order. I have been informed that this moonbase serves as a support for the Resistance, and I have come to defect.”
The man on the screen blinks at him. “What?”
The audio is terrible, and so Hux repeats himself, ending this time with: “I have come to defect. I bear a hostage from the First Order, a skilled shuttle technician, who can be used as leverage to negotiate with them should the need arise.” Not that anyone will bother negotiating for Ken, but – morale. It’s not kind to point out that if Hux is there, and found to be there, Ren will simply order the base destroyed, Ken and Hux along with it, and likely enjoy the entire experience enormously.
Ken makes an undignified squeaking noise, while Bill, on the comms display, rubs his chin. “You serious?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ll, uh…you won’t mind if we…?”
“Take whatever security measures you wish,” Hux says. “Whatever is necessary to set your mind at ease regarding the seriousness of my proposal.”
“Well,” says Bill slowly. “We’ll have you land, and, er – if you wouldn’t mind coming out with your hands up, that would go a long way. Sending you coordinates for landing.”
The display chimes, the image giving way to the desired landing site.
“Sir?” says Ken. “Are you…this is a ploy, right?”
It is, arguably, the worst decision Hux has ever made, career suicide – really, actual suicide, for if Ren or anyone else gets wind of this, they will murder him.
“...no,” he says, after a moment. “Don’t call me ‘sir’.”
“...um. Armitage?”
“‘Hux’ will do.”
“Okay,” says Ken. “Hux. What the fuck are you thinking?”
He leans back in the chair, looking down at the rapidly-approaching planet surface.
“Ken,” he says slowly. “Aren’t you tired of working for angry, incompetent assholes?”